A Change in Brooklyn
by Write it Right
Summary: *UPDATED AND COMPLETED!* A young girl becomes accepted in Brooklyn, and she and Spot Conlon will teach each other serious lessons about faults and life.
1. Freedom

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A Change in Brooklyn

Part One of the _Cherished Union _trilogy

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Disclaimer: This story is in no way affiliated with Disney, and I do not claim any characters thereof, such as Spot Conlon, Racetrack, Boots, Jack Kelly, etc. I do, however, claim ownership of my own characters (Brigid Nelson/Sketch, Tower, Stealthy, Mudpie, Daisy, Karen, Samantha, and Mark), and you may not use them in any which way unless you get my permission first. 

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Author's Note: This is, as written above, part one of a trilogy. If you were looking for romance, it ain't here. J I will work hard on getting the next two installments up before the end of the year, but please be patient considering I am still a student. Also, many of you read this story before I did major revamping to my _Newsies_ stories, and I must let you know that **there are many, many changes**. Please re-read it if you have not yet done so. Also, if you want to know what Brigid looks like, I can picture the actress Emily VanCamp of WB's _Everwood_ playing the role perfectly. J 

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Chapter One: Freedom

"I's leavin' an' I ain't comin' back," Brigid whispered to herself as she hurriedly packed her few but precious belongings. She glanced around cautiously to make sure no one saw her and closed the large draw-string bag, slinging it over her shoulder and creeping out onto the fire escape. After she landed noiselessly on the ground, she clapped as quietly as she could and smacked her lips. A tiny Yorkshire puppy raced out from an abandoned crate and followed Brigid closely on her heels. The young girl tore away in haste, leaving the repugnant orphanage behind her.

Brigid sighed with relief when she was a good distance away. "I's free! WE's free, Mudpie!" She rubbed the top of the puppy's furry head and looked around. "Now we's jus' gotta find a place ta sleep fa da night. A SAFE place ta sleep, mind ya..." Her eyes wondered around the street. The lamps were lit dimly, and hardly anyone could be seen out anymore. Of course, what else was to be expected at almost 12 o'clock at night? Brigid couldn't believe she'd stayed up this late, but to escape like this was worth it, even if she _was_ tired. She needed rest, sleep. After scouting around a bit more, she found no good place besides a slightly covered fire escape. Shrugging, Brigid got as comfortable as she could on it using the blankets she'd taken from her bed at the orphanage. It was a cold October night, and she shivered slightly, but remembered that the orphanage would get colder than this at times, so she didn't complain. Mudpie snuggled up next to her, and they both let out a small but contented sigh.

"Dis is bettuh den dat dang oiphanage," Brigid mumbled to her adopted companion. She had found the cute female puppy wandering alone on the street one day, but she wasn't allowed to have pets. So she'd fixed up a little area for the dog in the neighboring alley and kept her there secretly for two months. Now that was all behind them. Brigid rejoiced internally at the very thought of no longer being at the orphanage. She'd been there since she was five, being brought there by her parents who couldn't "afford" to take care of her, though they always happened to have enough for drinks and nights out. They hadn't even seemed to _love_ her, either. And the orphanage was their solution, that terrible place. Strictly sticking to rules and regulations, it was like a training camp for soldiers more than anything. Kids were severely punished (usually in the form of whipping) when even the smallest rule was broken, or was _assumed_ to have been broken. Everything had to look orderly and precise or you'd get a sound rebuke. It was cold and unfeeling. Brigid had started secretly calling it the "ordernage." She was positive it was the worst place in Manhattan.

Where was she? Brigid suddenly realized that she'd run away with no set goal in mind and no straight path. Okay, the orphanage was in Manhattan, and she had run north. Or was it south? Southeast? Or even east? All the confusing thoughts jumbled in Brigid's brain were too much for her to handle at that moment. She pushed all questions out of her tired head and went to sleep.

~*~

After waking up and getting her things together again, Brigid walked up to a grocery store and asked the owner, "'Scuse me, suh. What pawt of New Yawk am I's in?"

The man looked at her in surprise. "Don't ya know, missy? Dis is Brooklyn!"

Brigid blushed and replied, "I ain't too familiuh wid dese pawts. But t'ank ya fa da infuhmation." As she strolled off, she noticed a group of dark and haunting boys staring at her. She casually tried to act normal, but their stares bored into her. Then they started following her. Brigid felt drops of sweat starting to trickle down her brow, and her heart started to beat faster and faster. She lost her nerves and took off, Mudpie following. She heard the boys running behind her. _Oh, please help me, God! Get dem off me, I BEG ya! _Brigid screamed in her mind to her Lord. She ran blindly down the streets and through unfamiliar alleyways as she tried to lose the nasty boys. She was getting exhausted, and so was Mudpie. The little Yorkshire started lagging, so Brigid picked her up and carried her as she ran. Picking up her speed as best she could, Brigid hurled around a corner, almost running right into three policemen. They looked startled, but she shoved past them and turned into an alley. Opening the closest door she could find and slamming it shut after going in, she put an ear up to its wood and listened. She heard scuffling and muffled shouts and realized she'd tricked the boys into running straight into the hands of the cops.

Heaving a sigh of relief, she chuckled, closed her eyes, and leaned her back up against the door, panting hard. Mudpie breathed heavily as well, but then started barking and squirming at the sound of a laugh. Brigid's eyes flew open and she looked around in terror.

There stood a huge band of boys, some young and some older, and some not even awake yet. All wore similar ragged clothes and hats and seemed so angry and tough it scared the living daylights out of Brigid. She pressed herself as hard as she could against the door as Mudpie kept yapping in her arms. A good-looking young man who had been at the front of the group the whole time stepped forward, chuckling and waving a gold-topped cane around in circles.

"Well, whadda we gots heah?" he spoke sarcastically. "Hey, fellas! A visituh! An' wid 'er scrappy little doggy, too!"

Despite her fear, Brigid got angry at the boy's comment. She quickly quieted Mudpie. "She ain't scrappy, ya bum!" she squeaked. "If anyone is, it'd be you!"

The brown-haired boy looked absolutely shocked at being insulted, and the other guys couldn't believe their ears. Their fearless and infamous leader had been insulted! They all became quiet, waiting to see what he would throw at the girl. "Well! May I asks who ya might be ta snap at da leaduh of da Brooklyn newsies?"

Brigid hesitated. "I's... Brigid Nelson. An' which Brooklyn newsie might ya be?"

"Spot Conlon, me lady," the young man informed her, jokingly bowing in front of Brigid. "I's da leaduh, so if ya gots any questions, come ta me."

"Actually," Brigid said slowly, "I DO have-"

"Foist, I gots a question fa ya." Spot pointed his cane at her, which only made Mudpie growl threatingly. The boy rolled his blue eyes and continued, "Why aw ya heah, an' 'specially wid dat t'ing?"

Brigid glared at the cute leader as she straightened up. "If ya gots ta know, I ran away from da oiphanage in Manhattan an' came heah. Dis moining some guys were eyeing me and stawted followin' me as I ran. I came around da coinuh, down dat side alley, an'... jus' came in. I lost 'em and da cops grabbed dem at da coinuh. I didn'ts figuh anyone'd be livin' in dis dump. An' 'bout _dat t'ing_, me puppy is mine, so why SHOULDN'T she be wid me?"

Spot shrugged, defeated. "Reasonable story. An' ya puppy's fine. What's 'er name?"

"Mudpie."

"Mudpie?"

"She's brown an' black, so why not?" Brigid argued. "Now on ta me question. Why aw ya all livin' heah?"

"No one's built us a lodgin' house. Evah. Dey probably don't t'ink we's desoive it," Spot explained, situating his blue hat on his head.

Brigid nodded understandingly. Judging by the newsies' foreboding appearances and Spot's rather rude behavior, she wasn't surprised. Looking around, she realized the building was a big warehouse. No, not big; _huge_ was more like it. It was at least three stories tall with broken apart walkways barely hanging from the walls. Boxes and crates were everywhere, being used as seats, tables, and even beds. Guys were obviously just getting up as some moaned and grunted in the background. "Why ain't ya sellin' papes yet?" Brigid asked, puzzled.

"We's jus' wakin' up, really, 'cause we gots no one ta tell us when ta git up," Spot said.

"Wow," Brigid murmured. After a few moments of silence, she spoke, "So... um, do ya mind if I's become a newsie? I gots nowheh ta go an' ya look like ya got enough room heah."

Spot paused. "We don't have goil newsies heah."

She groped in her mind for an excuse. "Well… maybe ya could stawt wid me."

"Ya smawt; I give ya dat," Spot declared, "but aw ya tough? Dis life ain't always easy."

"I believe I can be when da situation calls fa it."

"Ya know ya will be da foist an' only goil newsie heah."

"Fine! Bring on da men."

Spot smiled, which for some reason made Brigid's knees go weak, and replied, "Den why not? Mudpie's welcome, too, as long as she don't piddle in heah!"

Brigid laughed. "I'll train 'er. Don't worry."

"How old aw ya?" Spot questioned curiously.

"Thoiteen," she answered, still holding Mudpie and her belongings.

"Dat's too old. Say ya ten or eleven, k?" Spot grinned.

Wrinkling her nose, Brigid asked, "Why?"

"Den ya sell mo' papes 'cause ya younguh. An' ya could use Mudpie ta git mo' sympathy, as well." Spot sighed as Brigid put her things down. "Ya got a lot ta loin, Brigid. Ya came ta da right place. All right, guys! Let's git out deh an' sell some papes!" Spot turned to Brigid as newsies tumbled past them. "Come wid me today! Ya don't know how lucky ya aw!"

Copyright © Write it Right, theobsessedprincess@yahoo.com


	2. Discoveries

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Chapter Two: Discoveries

Brigid _was_ lucky. Spot was an expert, and Brigid was a fast learner. However, she didn't like the idea of lying the way all the newsies did, so she instead made up more creative headlines than the ones on the papers and sold a good amount of papers this way, especially for it being her first day as a newsie. Yet somehow selling papers wasn't for her; she was lively and polite, but going out day after day, yelling at the top of her lungs trying to sell something she didn't care to read was a bit repulsive. After a while, all the newsies met up and had lunch. Brigid had to borrow some money from a nice newsie named Stealthy to buy some lunch, because all the money she'd just earned was given to Spot, whom Brigid had borrowed from in the first place to buy her papers. Brigid promised to pay Stealthy back as soon as she could. The red-headed boy simply smiled sweetly and told Brigid to take her time and not worry about it.

That night everyone headed back to the warehouse and started playing their usual card games. Stealthy took it upon himself to help Brigid get settled and feel at home. He introduced the new girl to many of the guys. Brigid even watched Spot and some others play a raucous game of poker.

After noticing the size and looks of a young man across from Spot, Brigid needed information. "Stealthy, how old is dat guy deh?" She pointed.

"He's 22. Name's Towuh," her friend replied.

"Darn it!" Brigid mumbled.

Stealthy laughed. "Yeah, ya got da same idea a bunch of goils do when dey foist see 'im, but he's already got a goilfriend. She's some noirse dat lives in Manhattan, which is actually quite helpful fa us. Whenevuh we gits banged up, bam - we's go ta her place an' she fixes us up." Stealthy snapped his fingers for emphasis.

Brigid wrinkled her nose. "How do ya git 'banged up?'" 

"Fighting, wrestling, brawls, da usual," Stealthy replied nonchalantly.

"D-dat's _usual_?" Brigid's eyes went wide.

Stealthy shrugged. "Yeah. What's da mattuh?"

Brigid looked down at her lap. "I, um… I really don'ts know _how_ ta fight at all." As Stealthy stared at her in shock, Brigid stammered, "Well, I-I… I _can_ kick an' hit when I need ta, but I's neva actually been _in_ a fight, so I don'ts know what ta do."

"Oh, me _gosh_. Well, we'll change dat fa ya, k?" Stealthy took a hold of his friend's hand and dragged her over to where Spot sat playing poker. "Spot! Dis goil needs ya help!"

"Not now, Stealthy," Spot replied with slight agitation, flipping a card to the person next to him.

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Geez, he's a real gentleman, Brigid thought in disgust.

"No, ya don't unduhstand, boss," Stealthy pressed. He leaned down and whispered in his ear. "She don'ts know how ta fight."

Spot whirled to look at them both with utter shock in his eyes. "Ya have _got_ ta be joking."

Stealthy shook his head as Brigid gave an innocent smile.

"Damn, Brigid!" the leader cursed.

Wincing and immediately feeling uncomfortable, Brigid stuttered, "Uh, sorry… it ain't me fault. An'… an' if ya don't mind, could ya not sweah around' me no mo'?" Spot stared at her as well as anyone else who had heard the request. "I jus' don't t'ink it's always necessary," she explained.

Recovering from his stupor, Spot haughtily replied, "I's gonna do as I please, but if it bodduhs ya I won't around' ya." With the air and pomp of a king, he declared, "In da moinin', kid, I's gonna show ya what it means ta be a Brooklyn newsie."

Copyright © Write it Right, theobsessedprincess@yahoo.com


	3. Fighting, Brooklyn Style

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Chapter Three: Fighting, Brooklyn Style

Spot Conlon was never one to break a promise in drastic situations; therefore, he was up bright and early to teach Brigid how to fight "Brooklyn style." The two went to the docks right next to the warehouse, Stealthy following. Spot led Brigid to his favorite dock and then turned to face her.

"Awright," he began, "da foist t'ing ya gotta know in fightin' is yaself an' youse enemy. Ya hafta be familiuh wid' youse strengths an' weaknesses, an' have a general idea 'a youse opponent's, too. Anudduh good t'ing ta notice is da size an' height of him, jus' so ya know if ya gonna need help or not."

Brigid raised her eyebrows and shot an impressed look at Stealthy. The boy nodded with a small grin on his face as if to say, "Dis is why he's da leaduh." Brigid looked back at Spot expectantly and asked, "What next? I t'ink I's got dat unfuhmation stored away in me brain."

Spot chuckled and replied, "Now come da moves."

The next two hours were spent showing Brigid how to punch, kick, and wrestle an opponent. A crowd of newsies who didn't want to sell papers that day gathered around and watched their fearless leader teach the petite girl. They were surprised to see he was actually having a good time, smiling at Brigid's tough nature and laughing at the jokes she made. Brigid even seemed to be having fun as she threw punches at an invisible attacker.

After a while, Spot told her they were done and he'd teach her more later. Brigid thanked him and went over to Stealthy.

"Very impressive," he commented with a smile. "I didn't t'ink ya was dat strong."

Brigid blushed. "Well, I am, it's jus' I nevuh show it as much as youse guys do. Actually, I take dat back. I did fight at da oiphanage one time."

"Really? What happened?" Stealthy asked in interest.

"Oh, dis guy dat's a bully deh was bugging me. I tried ta ignore 'im by walkin' away, but he jus' followed me. So I gots fed up, turned around, an' socked his-" Brigid demonstrated what she'd done, but little did she know Spot was right behind her. Her fist made contact with his left eye and he cried out, his hands automatically flying to his face. Brigid gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes wider than they'd ever been in her life.

The newsies who had seen the blow were all roaring with laughter. Stealthy was about to fall off the dock he was giggling so hard and some of the guys' faces were red with guffaws. Brigid lowered her hand and looked around, her eyes resting on Spot. Two guys walked up to him and exclaimed, "You jus' got soaked, Mr. I's-So-Tough! By a goil!"

Brigid couldn't tell, but as Spot walked off, she thought she saw a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. She then saw Tower walking up to her.

Grabbing her hand and shaking it hard, he said, "Congratulations, an' welcome ta Brooklyn!"

Copyright © Write it Right, theobsessedprincess@yahoo.com


	4. Hidden Personality

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Chapter Four: Hidden Personality

Brigid quietly walked up to Spot that night as the sun was setting, Mudpie scampering after her. He was sitting on his dock, feet dangling over the edge and staring at the water. She hesitated, and then shyly asked, "Spot?"

He turned his head and looked at her. "Yeah?"

"May I's sit down? I… I gotta tell ya sumt'in'."

Spot patted the wood next to him and replied, "Shoiuh."

Brigid sat down and stared at the water herself. "I jus' came ta say… ta say I's sorry. I nevuh in me life meant at hit ya like dat; I didn'ts know ya was standin' deh."

Spot chuckled and smiled. Looking at her, he replied, "'S okay. At least I knows ya loined sumt'in'."

Brigid smiled back at him, but then she got a good look at his left eye. It was turning black and blue, with a little bit of green to top it off. Her grin quickly turned into a frown and she stated, "Dat looks… terrible."

Spot shrugged. "I's had woise."

"I still feels bad," Brigid insisted. "If deh's any way I can make it up ta ya, jus' let me know. I's really sorry!"

"Hey, fuhgit 'bout it, k? I's fine," Spot snapped, trying to keep his "tough guy" persona on. He side-glanced at his new newsie.

Brigid nodded, looking slightly hurt, and she stood up to leave. She hesitated, but shook her head and walked off.

Spot lifted his head, feeling guilty. "Hey, wait! Is deh sumt'in' else ya need?"

Brigid paused and turned around. "Uh, no… it's nut'in', really."

"Well, I's da leaduh heah an' it's me job ta see dat everyone's happy an' doin' well," Spot argued, pressing her to tell him. "Spill it, Brigid! Hell, I ain't da leaduh of dis place fa a shitty nut'in'!"

She had to smile slightly at that, even if he _did_ swear. Politely correcting him she spoke her mind. "No sweahing around' me, 'member? Anyway, if ya gots ta know, I was jus' wonderin' what ya was doin' out heah all alone." 

Spot looked straight into her eyes, almost as if he was seeing if she was lying or not. No Brooklyn newsie who knew him dared ask him that, but she was new. She didn't know how he occasionally needed alone time and how he liked to at times sit on his dock alone, lost in his thoughts. She didn't know that you never asked Spot Conlon personal questions; you left him alone. He leaned back on his elbows and stared at the water. Quietly, he spoke, "I's jus'… t'inkin'."

Brigid sat back down next to him. "Anyt'in' wrong?"

Spot stared at her again. What was this, a therapy session? Who did she think she was, flouncing up to the leader of the toughest newsies in New York to offer help when she was a newcomer? Yet something about her kind and gentle nature got him, and he shook his head. "No, everyt'in's okay. Sometimes me mind jus' goes off an' I have ta stop an' wonduh 'bout stuff. Like, isn't it weird ta t'ink dat Califoina's way on da udda side of dis country an' people aw livin' deh? An' don't ya evuh wonduh if someone ya know is lookin' at da same staw as ya at night?" He winced, deciding what he'd said must've sounded dumb coming from a supposed "tough guy."

Brigid gazed at him with a small and understanding smile on her face. "Yes, I's do t'ink of t'in's like dat at times. It's great ya do, too. I t'ink da udda's give ya less credit dan ya desoive, Spot." She got up and headed back into the warehouse.

Spot watched her leave, turned back to the sunset, and sighed.

Copyright © Write it Right, theobsessedprincess@yahoo.com


	5. Keeping a Secret

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Chapter Five: Keeping a Secret

The next day the Brooklyn gang headed to Manhattan to play games with the newsies there. Brigid followed Stealthy, not knowing where she was headed or what was going on. As Stealthy explained how the groups often did this just to have fun, Spot kept glancing behind at them, and Brigid kept noticing. He didn't look angry or even interested; he looked scared, even worried. _What's wrong wid him?_ Brigid wondered to herself. She found out as soon as they reached the lodging house in Manhattan. As the newsies filed in, Spot pulled Brigid aside, trying to ignore the weird look Stealthy was giving him.

"Ya ain't told anyone, have ya?" he started as he held her shoulders at arm's length.

Brigid blinked in confusion. "Told _what_?!"

Spot looked at the ground in embarrassment. He let go of her shoulders and mumbled, "About me t'inkin'… 'bout how I ain't as tough as da guys say I am."

Brigid started to laugh. "I can't believe ya, Spot! You aw so worried about youse reputation!"

"'A coise I am! What if people found out dat da feahless Spot Conlon likes ta sit an' t'ink like a poet at times? Ya realize how damn humiliatin' dat would be fa me?" Spot cried in growing frustration.

Brigid shrugged. "Maybe dey wouldn't mind. Maybe dey'd t'ink dat's a good quality fa deh leaduh ta have. An' t'anks fa sweahing, by da way."

"_Did ya or did ya not tell anyone?!_" Spot fumed, hitting the bottom of his gold-topped cane hard on the ground. His crystal blue eyes seemed to have a dangerous fire in them that Brigid had never seen before.

She smiled, undaunted. "I didn'ts tell no one."

Spot stared deeply at her. "Ya shoiuh? Ya ain't lyin'?"

Brigid nodded. Spot relaxed visibly, his shoulders slumping and his red face turning its normal shade again. Brigid spoke up, "Let's go inside. I wanna meet all dese guys everyone keeps tawkin' 'bout."

"No! Dis looks bad, ya an' me alone togedduh," Spot argued. He tapped his cane on his hand and stated, "We gotta t'ink of an excuse, a plan."

Brigid rolled her eyes. "Spot, dey know nut'in's going on."

"Ah, but da Manhattan guys don't, an' ya wouldn't believe all da crap dey'd give me 'bout it, eiduh." After a slight pause, he snapped his fingers and cried, "I gots it! Ya go in an' tell dem dat I lost me money an' had ta go find it. I's gonna come in latuh, ta make it seem mo' real. An' remembuh, dis is aw secret!"

Shaking her head, Brigid walked up the lodging house steps. How could someone so deep and thoughtful be just as snotty and prideful? The day before she'd seen Spot's softer side, and now suddenly she had been hit by the tornado of his ego. She did realize how terrible it would be for him if the others found out about his "poetic side," but it also wouldn't kill him to lighten up and be nice at times. Sighing, Brigid stepped into the Manhattan Newsboys' Lodging House, throwing her worries aside.

The loudness of the place hit her ears immediately. Boys yelling, chairs being moved, laughing, pounding on the table,… Brigid would have to get used to it. Standing awkwardly in the doorway, she glanced around, looking for one person she knew so she wouldn't feel so alone. To her relief, Tower cam over and smiled kindly.

"Ya lost, Brigid?" he asked understandingly.

She nodded. "T'ank ya fa savin' me!"

"No problem. Come on! I's gonna intruhduce ya ta da guys. Da _udda_ guys!" The first boy Tower led her over to was small and black, and he was smiling brightly at them. "Brigid, dis is Boots. Boots, dis is Brigid. She's a new goil at aw place."

The boy smiled and shook hands with her. "Pleased ta meet ya, Brigid. Spot treatin' ya okay?"

Brigid frowned. "Uh… yeah. Why do ya-"

Tower pulled her away. "Okay, let's meet some new people den."

Brigid raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "What'd he mean, Towuh?"

"Nuttin'! Nuttin' at all."

Copyright © Write it Right, theobsessedprincess@yahoo.com


	6. Nickname

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Chapter Six: Nickname

"Brigid!" Spot yelled as he stormed into the warehouse the next day and chucked his hat on the floor. Mudpie gave a yip and dashed over to him, begging to be petted.

A huge sigh emitted from the girl's mouth. "Yes?"

"I t'ought I told ya ta clean dis place up if ya was goin' ta stay home!"

"I _did_." Brigid ignored Spot's stare as she continued to sketch a corner of the warehouse where the sun's rays were streaming into the building in a beautiful, crystal-like pattern.

The Brooklyn leader huffed. "Well, ya shoiuh didn't do a good job."

"It ain't me problem dat you an' da udda guys aw pigs," retaliated the unconcerned girl.

Spot pulled a face at her behind her back, but before he could make another snide comment his eye caught Brigid's drawing. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed as he bent down next to her.

"No sweahing," Brigid firmly scolded, rubbing Mudpie's head.

Spot grumbled under his breath before he inquired, "Dat's amazin', Brig! Wheh'd ya loin ta do dat?!"

The girl shrugged. "Nowhehs. It's jus' me talent." She paused. "Actually… I got dis idea dat I's been tawkin' ta Towuh an' Stealthy 'bout… I's t'inkin' of sellin' pictuhs fa money."

"What 'bout papes?" Spot asked.

"I told ya sumt'in' jus' wasn't woikin' fa me deh, but I would like ta still keep doin' it if I can do dis, too." She looked imploringly into his blue eyes. "Do ya t'ink I can pull it off?"

"Oh, um… of coise! I mean, widout a doubt," Spot stuttered. He glanced at her drawing and declared, "Deh ain't dat type of t'ing bein' sold on da streets much, an' I's shoiuh dat someone would set down two bits fa one if it was good."

"Two bits?! Wow!" Brigid smiled brightly and continued work on her art.

"Ya nickname has _got_ ta be Sketch," Spot suggested.

"Sounds good ta me," Brigid agreed. "T'anks, Spot."

"No problem," he replied as he stood up. Several newsies tumbled into the warehouse and Spot immediately added, "Don't fuhgit at let anyone know who asks dat I was da one dat gave ya youse nickname an' encouraged dis!"

"Of coise," Brigid mumbled. "Ya wouldn't want ta enhance youse reputation now, would ya?"

"What was dat?"

"Okay! Count on it."

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	7. To Demand Too Much

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Chapter Seven: To Demand Too Much

The following year brought on many trials and joys, but it was all meant for growing. Due to Spot's admission of Brigid as a newsie into Brooklyn, other homeless or unwanted girls slowly trickled in. Brigid was proud to place herself as their own personal boss, much to the disdain of Spot, who still believe he was in charge. The girl newsie grew closer to not only the Brooklyn guys but also those in Manhattan. Tower and Stealthy were her best friends next to Spot, and in Manhattan Racetrack might as well have been Brigid's older brother. No one could deny everything was pretty good, but as the year continued on, changes were in store, and Spot Conlon in particular was about to be taught a lesson he'd never forget.

One beautiful day in the middle of April the newsies headed home after a day's work of relatively easy selling, and as soon as the boringness of constant yelling was replaced by a mood of wildness, things got fun. Several newsies ran off to get the Manhattan guys and others stripped down to pants alone, dashing outside and diving off the dock into the water. Stealthy convinced three of the girls to join in the swimming, and donning some modest rags they were not hesitant. Dunking was soon enforced thereafter.

A short time later the Manhattan newsies arrived and poker games began. Brigid was drying her long blonde hair and about ready to join the card players when Spot barged his way through a group and stomped straight at her. The small group of girl newsies followed him as he stuck his face right in Brigid's. "Wheh's me shoit?" he demanded impatiently, staring her down.

"What shoit?" she asked as she still dabbed at her hair with a towel.

He slammed his fist on a nearby table. "Don't give me dat shit! Ya were supposed ta have washed it fa me, or at least had one of dem do it!" He jerked a thumb back at the girls. 

Brigid was on the brink of getting fed up. Defiantly placing her hands squarely on her hips, she cried, "Oh, dat shoit? I might have t'rown it in da rivuh. Or maybe I let people trample ovuh it in da streets. But, honestly, Spot; why do ya care?! Ya jus' seem a little preoccupied wid ego, laziness, an' sweahing anyway ta bodduh 'bout a little shoit."

"Because dat's me best shoit!!! But most impoitant, _I's_ da leaduh an' _I_ told ya ta take care of it!"

"I ain't youse soivant!"

By now a small group of newsies had begun to watch the word fight. It was something new to them, seeing the infamous Brooklyn leader challenged to a battle of wits.

"Tell me wheh da shoit is, ya bitch!" Spot commanded.

Brigid was livid. "Not when ya tawk ta me like DAT!!!"

"Don't make me kick ya out of Brooklyn!"

"Now dat wouldn't be a good show of leaduhship, would it?"

"AAARRGGH!" Spot spun around and pointed a shaking finger at a girl newsie. "Wheh is me white an' red plaid shoit, Daisy?!"

The girl's lips trembled along with the rest of her body as she slowly pointed to the floor by his bed. "Right deh, wheh ya t'rew it down yestuhday."

Spot's eyes would have killed anyone else but Brigid as he hastily and furiously left the building. She, in turn, huffed in complete disgust and flounced off to her bed. Hearing footsteps behind her she snapped, "I don't feels like company right now, Daisy."

"Well, if I was Daisy, dat'd be useful unfuhmation," came Racetrack's voice. He sat down next to her and asked, "Ya awright, Sketch? Ya look like ya ready ta explode."

"I am!!! Spot's me friend but sumtimes he jus' pisses me off!!!" Brigid fumed, strangling an invisible person with her white-knuckled hands.

Race chuckled. "Obviously. Dat one was a doosie; I can tell ya flustered 'cause ya jus' swore, an' I ain't nevuh hoid ya sweah."

"Ta me, dat's not sweahing, but it shoiuh is strong language, and, boy, is it what I feel," she revealed as she let off more steam by punching her pillow. Mudpie took it as a sign to jump on the bed.

"Brigid," Racetrack calmly spoke, using her real name which indicated seriousness and closeness, "Spot's been dis way fuhevuh. It'll take a miracle ta change 'im."

The girl looked into her friend's eyes and declared, "Well, if a miracle don't come soon, Race, I don't knows what I'm gunna do."

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	8. Strike Talk

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Chapter Eight: Strike Talk

The next couple of months were quite uneventful. Things between Spot and Brigid cooled down and their friendship was just like normal again. They celebrated Spot's 16th birthday in May and Brigid's 14th in June with much gusto and livelihood. They teased each other and helped with the other's problems. Tower even heard and saw them from the warehouse window one evening sitting out on the dock as the sun set, talking about fascinating topics such as life's journey and people's beliefs. He noticed that the discussion didn't last long though as Spot made a snide comment about faith. Brigid, believing in God and standing up for her convictions, didn't appreciate the comment at all and she showed it by glaring icily at Spot and immediately leaving his presence. Tower shook his head in repulsion of his leader's behavior as he went to find and comfort Brigid.

Towards the middle of July, Brigid was spending time with her fellow girl newsies when they heard the shouting and laughing outside by the docks die down. Curious, they all got up and viewed the scene out a window. Jack Kelly, the Manhattan leader, was spit shaking hands with Spot. Boots was with him as well as a cute young man with curly brown hair and sparkling blue eyes. The girls joined one of the groups outside and listened to the exchange with growing concern. It appeared that the Manhattan newsies were fed up with the outrageous price of newspapers and were calling for a strike. Spot declared that they would have to show him their true devotion to the idea before he would offer Brooklyn's aid.

As Jack, Boots, and the new newsie named David left, Brigid quickly grabbed the African American boy's sleeve and pulled him aside. "I gotta ask ya sumt'in', Boots."

"What's on youse mind, Sketch?" he asked, automatically volunteering any information she would need.

"Remembuh when I foist met ya?" The boy nodded. "When ya asked me if Spot was treatin' me awright, did ya say dat 'cause ya knew how ovuhbearin' he is?"

Boots gave her a respectful look. "Yep, I dids. Ya too good ta have anymo' problems in youse life, Sketch."

Brigid gave him a hug. "T'anks, Boots. Ya da best! Say hi ta Race an' da udda guys fa me!" After the newsie ran off to catch up with his leader and new friend, she walked up to Spot. "So ya t'ink dey'll stick ta what dey said?" she inquired of him.

"Not shoiuh," Spot mused with a shrug. "Jackie-boy's guys aw great, but deh shoiuh ain't as tough as us." He gave her a cocky grin. "Hell- I mean, heck, if one of me goils can punch da sh-… uh, livin' daylight's out of me, den we's gotta be good!" Brigid merely laughed.

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	9. Complications and Victory

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Chapter Nine: Complications and Victory

The Manhattan guys were as serious as they had said they would be, and Spot got together his men to go join in the strike. He told the five girls to stay at home in case it got too rough, much to their dismay. Their dismay was only enhanced as soon as they found out that their men had saved the Manhattan newsies from getting skunked by ruffians that Joseph Pulitzer had let his distribution man, Mr. Weisel, hire. The girls wanted part of the glory but they had missed their chance because of Spot. Then, when his picture was in the _New York Sun_, they weren't too pleased with their leader.

The strike was going well, and all the newsies from over New York were meeting at Irving Hall for a discussion and afterwards a show by the Swedish meadowlark, Medda Larson. All was proceeding smoothly and wonderfully until Spot started to disagree with Jack and David's ideas. The Manhattan leader yelled something to the huge crowd about the need for unity, and after everyone basically agreed with his wisdom, he asked for Spot's decision. The Brooklyn leader scanned the newsies present until he made eye contact with Brigid. Something in her eyes convinced him that Jack was right. Medda appeared, and everyone was having the time of their lives singing and dancing when it happened.

Spot tore through the crowd, saw Brigid, and grabbed her. "Find da uddas an' git out!"

Brigid was absolutely puzzled. "What?!"

"Round up da udda goils an' leave!!!" Spot squeezed her arms for emphasis. Before Brigid could ask anymore questions, a whistle went off and the cops appeared out of nowhere. Spot shoved her towards the back door. "GO!!!"

"I can fight!" she cried, struggling against his push.

"No!" he yelled as he motioned to Daisy to follow him. "I ain't gunna risk havin' any of ya hoit, or maybe even t'rown in jail!!!"

Brigid knew arguing would get her nowhere, so after finding the girls and landing a few punches on some cops she left Irving Hall, leading the others back to Brooklyn alone. They waited in agonized jealousy for the guys to return, wanting every juicy detail but also hoping nothing terrible had happened to any of them. Everyone arrived home safely except Spot and Tower, and Stealthy informed them that the two had been captured by the bulls and were being held for the night. Brigid couldn't sleep; two of her best friends were in jail and who knew what could happen to them next?

The following afternoon Brigid saw Tower and Spot strolling up to the warehouse. Ecstatic, she flew out to greet them with immense hugs. They told the whole story of Jack getting busted, the journalist Bryan Denton paying off the newsies' fines, and the outlook for the end of the strike. Nothing looked hopeful when Jack betrayed the very cause he had started, but in the end he repented and every working child in New York went on strike with the newsboys. Brooklyn headed over to the already gigantic gathering and waited with everyone else for the news as Jack confronted Pulitzer. They were successful; the price of papers stayed the same but Pulitzer now allowed them to sell back their unsold papers. The newsies were overjoyed. Spot rode home in the governor's carriage, and to her amusement Brigid heard about the experience for many a year to come.

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	10. Unexpected Visitor

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Chapter Ten: Unexpected Visitor

The strike being completed, the Brooklyn newsies invited their Manhattan friends over to celebrate. Anyone who had a girl (or a guy) was encouraged to bring her (or him) along; several took up this offer. Jack brought David's pretty older sister Sarah, Tower introduced his long-time girlfriend Karen to everyone, and Mush shyly ushered a beautiful young woman to the dock. 

"Heya, Mush!" Stealthy greeted him. "Who's dis?"

"Ya know da dress shop across from aw distruhbution centuh?" Mush motioned to the young lady. "Dis is da ownuh's daughtuh! I met her right afore da strike."

"Wonduhful! Pleased ta meet ya… uh…" Stealthy trailed off as he realized Mush hadn't told him her name yet.

"Samantha. Samantha James," Mush supplied.

"But please call me Sam!" the brown-haired girl informed the Brooklyn newsie, shaking hands with him as Brigid walked up.

"Hi, Sketch!" Mush cried as he gave her a hug. He repeated all he'd said to Stealthy, and Brigid immediately warmed up to the tomboy girl who was only a year older then her. Just as Brigid was about to strike up a conversation with Samantha, Spot approached them and the girl went ballistic.

"ERIC?!" she squealed. Spot stopped dead in his tracks and gaped with utter shock. "Eric Chad Conlon?!" The girl drifted from Mush's side and froze a foot away from the Brooklyn leader, a gigantic smile spread wide across her face.

"How… how do ya know me name?!" Spot faltered in a fearful manner.

Samantha's face fell slightly as she reached out and touched Spot's arm. All eyes were on them as she quietly implored, "Don't ya remembuh? It's me!"

A light of recognition appeared in Spot's eyes and he exclaimed, "SAM!!!", twirling the girl around and letting out a jovial laugh. He set her down and kissed her cheek as she teared up. The two started talking at an incredible speed, and the other newsies could only catch wisps of their conversation, something about "what happened?" and "where is Mark?"

Brigid couldn't help but break in. "Whoa! Hold it! Spot, who is dis?! We's all waitin' fa an expluhnation yet!" Mush nodded emphatically.

The 16-year-old put an arm around Samantha's waist and declared, "Samantha heah is me sistuh!"

A cry of both surprise and delight was emitted from the large group and they all pressed in around the siblings. Mush ran over to Samantha and their chatter was incomprehensible. Spot was being bombarded with questions and pats on the back, but Brigid still stood where she was, her feet refusing to movie and her mind not wanting to tell them to. Spot caught her eyes and saw the disappointed look in them, and as soon as she sulked off he pushed his way through the crowd and trotted after her.

"Brig! What is it?" he asked with concern, placing a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off and only stalked on faster. He frowned and continued, "What's da problem?"

"You!!!" Brigid snapped as she entered the empty warehouse.

Spot held his hands in front of him. "What?! What'd I do???"

"Ev'ryt'in'!!!" Brigid cried as she whirled to glare at him with a bitter and penetrating scowl. "So… youse name's Eric, huh?"

Spot shrugged. "Yeah…"

"Unbelievable!" The blonde threw her hands up in the air. "Ya lied ta me! Ya lied ta all of us!"

"No, I didn't!" Spot defended himself. "Ya _nevuh_ axed me if dis was me real name or not, AN' ya nevuh axed me if I had family, so deh's no way I could've lied!"

"But don't ya t'ink dat by not tellin' us it causes mo' damage den if ya did? It's like livin' a lie!" She gave him a pitiful expression and put her hand over her heart. "I's hoit, Spot. I's hoit real bad."

"What makes ya so special?" Spot demanded, face starting to turn red.

"Oh, I don't know! Maybe it's 'cause I's da foist goil newsie ya evuh had, or 'cause we's best friends, or 'cause ya always ask me ta do all youse chores fa ya."

"I do _not_!!!"

"Yes, ya _do_! Do ya realize jus' how many times ya've axed me ta wash ya clothes when ya go ta play games? Or how many times I's had ta clean dis doity place up when ya go swimmin' wid da uddas??? At least Towuh and Stealthy aw kind enough ta help me. An' now all us goils aw tawgets of ya laziness; it ain't jus' me anymo'!"

"Dat's bullshit!!!" Spot yelled. "I do chores jus' as much as ya an' da goils do!"

"NO, ya _don't_, an' STOP SWEAHIN'!!!" Brigid screamed.

"I's gunna do what I WANT!!!"

The livid girl pointed an accusing finger at him, only centimeters from his face. "I's had it wid ya! One day ya can be da nicest guy in da woild, an' da next I's wishin' we'd nevuh met! You aw selfish, highfalutin', demandin', ovuhbearin', an' jus' a pathetic tightwad!!!"

"Ya ain't so poifect yaself deh, little miss Sketch!" Spot roared. "I's nevuh seen someone so pawticuluh, so borin', so disgustingly GOOD!!!"

"Call me off me trolley, but I's radduh be sweet den sour!"

"If ya have such a problem wid me, den leave! Jus' LEAVE, Brigid Nelson!!!" Spot bellowed, pointing his cane towards the door.

"Maybe I will!!!" she screeched, stuffing her belongings into her drawstring bag and charging out the door. Mudpie nearly skid into her legs when Brigid halted at the door just long enough to holler, "Dat was da foist wise t'ing I's evuh hoid ya say, Spot Conlon!!!"

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	11. Friendly Advice

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Chapter Eleven: Friendly Advice

When the Manhattan guys arrived home that night, Kloppman, the lodging house manager, caught Racetrack before he went upstairs and told him he had a visitor waiting for him on the roof. Race had a pretty good idea of who it was, and as soon as his head popped above the roofline his suspicions were confirmed. Brigid sat in the corner, head down, and hand stroking Mudpie, who was devotedly sprawled out next to her. He climbed onto the roof, stuck his hands in his pockets, and strolled over to her, saying, "We missed ya today."

Brigid looked up athim and gave him a sad smile. "Sorry."

As soon as he saw tears well up in her eyes, he got down and hugged her tightly. He let her cry on his shoulder until she was ready to talk. He listened to the whole story like a true friend, and gave his advice after. "Brig, you aw da only poisen in da woild dat has evuh backtawked ta Spot, an' I's kind of glad ya did. Da scoundrel desoived it aftuh all he's done ta ya; ya should nevuh be treated like dat, _nevuh_." He paused and let Mudpie lick his hand. "Da truth is, I's had t'ree mo' years of experience an' life dan ya, an' I believe dat if ya don't apologize ta Spot, you'll regret it da rest of youse life. If ya let dis friendship go, ya ain't nevuh gunna git it back."

"Oh, Race," Brigid sniffed. "Some of da t'ings he said… I jus' can't; not now, anyways."

"Ya jus' told me dat ya nevuh wanted ta be like Spot," Race pointed out, "but heah ya aw letting' pride git in da way."

Brigid was speechless. She hated to admit it, but he was right. Suddenly, they both heard someone on the fire escape and then Tower appeared. "Hey, kid," he greeted Brigid. "I's been lookin' fa ya."

"Help me out heah, Towuh," Race pleaded. "Brigid's dead set on hatin' Spot fuhevuh."

"I dids _not_ say dat!" Brigid argued vehemently.

Race elbowed her gently. "Take it easy! Jus' playin' wid ya."

She had to grin at that.

Tower came and sat Indian-style by them. "So what happened?" Brigid repeated the story, and then he gave his opinion. "I's seen ya two toggeduh; ya have an amazing friendship, Brigid. Don't ruin it; jus' give dis a little time an' den come back."

"I can't," she whimpered. "Spot kicked me out of Brooklyn."

"No way. Not you!" Race voiced incredulously.

"Did he actually say dat he was kickin' ya out?" Tower implored.

Brigid froze. "No…"

"Den ya not!"

"But he meant it!"

"Sumtimes what Spot says an' what he means aw two very different t'ings," Tower calmly told her. Racetrack nodded his approval.

The girl newsie contemplated this in her head before standing up. "T'anks, guys."

"Wheh ya goin', Sketch?" Tower asked.

"I don'ts know," she truthfully replied, picking up Mudpie and putting her in her bag which she hung over her shoulder. "I jus' have ta t'ink."

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	12. Turmoil

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Chapter Twelve: Turmoil

Brigid did think. She thought and rethought, pondered and reflected on, sorted through and scrutinized the million things racing through her head. Though her mind was not scattered, her feet certainly were as she wandered here and there with no sense of direction whatsoever. Time seemed irrelevant.

She'd done plenty wrong herself; he was not the only one to blame, that was for sure. She knew she was all the things Spot had said, except maybe boring. But she wasn't about to go and change her ways because one person didn't like them. However, she knew she _could_ change her wrongdoings; why did she always get so angry? It was definitely a fault. Before she worked on that, she had to make up with Spot and fix all the problems she'd caused. Oh, but how she hated him! She was _not_ going to go crawling on her belly to him this soon. She wanted him to suffer, to wallow in agony. With a groan, she realized that _she_ was the one who was suffering.

Brigid's eyelids grew droopy, but she forced herself to stay awake. Glancing around, she noticed that it was totally dark and she'd strayed into Central Park. She found a bench somewhere in a lonely corner and sat down with a frustrated sigh. Mudpie hopped onto her lap and Brigid talked to her puppy. "Looks like we's all alone agin, huh?" After a while, she couldn't help herself and she fell asleep.

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	13. Clarity of Heart and Mind

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Chapter Thirteen: Clarity of Heart and Mind

"I's _such_ an idiot!" Spot growled as he crossed the Brooklyn Bridge. "Gone only t'ree days an' I could weah a hole in da floor wid worry." He went right into the Lodging House, waving to Kloppman as he passed him, and found Race combing his hair among the other newsboys, who were waking up and getting ready to sell papers for the day. "Race! Wheh is she?"

The dark-haired newsie snapped his head around to meet the Brooklyn leader's gaze. "What, she ain't back yet?!" At Spot's negative reply, Race immediately headed out onto the streets with Spot on his heels. "She was heah da night ya two… ya know. She left aftuh dat."

"Wheh could she be?" Spot moaned.

Race paused. "No! Wheh would she _go_?"

Spot started naming off possibilities. "Library, racetracks, baseball stadium, scenic view… she's got a lotta loves."

"I can check the tracks latuh, but let's shoot fa da library an' Central Pawk." Race hurriedly backed away. "Meet ya in da Pawk in one hour!"

Spot nodded and took off, hoping in the deepest depths of his heart that she was all right. Scouring the Park fruitlessly, he was about to give up when he heard a dog yap and a girl's voice telling it that she wasn't going to play right then. There Brigid was, sitting on a slightly hidden bench with a piece of paper and a pencil and drawing the tree Spot was standing under. He didn't know whether to get her attention or just watch her, but as soon as she looked up to view the tree, an uncomfortable tension was melded between them.

After what seemed like an eternity, Spot spoke in a cracking voice. "Uh… hi."

"Hey," Brigid quietly said.

Mudpie was at Spot's feet in a second and he bent down to pet her. "Shoiuh missed dis psycho dog da past couple of days." He looked up at Brigid. "We missed its ownuh even mo'."

"Am I surprised? Yes," Brigid joked lightly.

Spot chuckled, stood up straight, and put his hands in his pockets. "Ya been heah da whole time?"

"No, I's been wanderin'. I jus' felt like drawin' dis beautiful, peaceful tree dis moinin'," she replied with a straight face. 

Spot smiled at her artistic intuition but then became serious. Nervously clearing his throat, he began, "Brigid… I's so sorry."

The girl looked straight into his eyes. "Me, too."

"I was terrible ta ya as well as da udda goils. I's been a lousy leaduh, a pathetic friend, an' frankly… really rude an' unsupportive."

"An' like ya said, I was too pawticuluh an' borin' an' good. But ya wasn't a lousy leaduh! A bit ovuhbearin', yes, but not lousy."

"Well, ya ain't borin' in any way, shape, or form. I jus' had at blow sumt'in out of me mouth! Ya anyt'in' _but_ borin'. Da way ya draw… da way ya can joke around… da way ya don't put up wid crap. An' as fa being good… I want ya ta be good. Ya correct me badness wid it, like sweahing an' dis damn pride… oops! Dis _pitiful_ pride." He smiled. "I know I's done a lot, so I's jus' gunna covuh it all by sayin' I's sorry fa ev'ryt'in' I evuh did ta ya. I was wrong, an' ya did nuttin' ta desoive it. Will ya fuhgive me?"

"If you'll fuhgive me," Brigid giggled.

Spot spit into his hand and held it out. "Done!"

Brigid spit into her own hand shook his with a relieved grin. Just then Racetrack appeared, arms spread wide and yelling, "Sketch!!! Brig, ya okay!" He hugged her to death and then commanded, "Don't ya DARE do dat ta us all agin!"

"I don't plan on it," she answered confidently, sharing an honest smile with Spot.

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	14. Final Clearance

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Chapter Fourteen: Final Clearance

"I hope I didn'ts cause any of dis!" Samantha stated with concern as she and Brigid sat next to each other on the dock, swinging their dangling legs and watching Spot and his little brother Mark splash and play in the water.

Brigid laughed. "Oh, no! No, it was all Spot an' I. Aw faults alone!" She smiled at Sam. "We woiked it out, so all's good an' well!"

"Hey, Sketch!" Spot yelled. "Sam!"

The two girls looked down at the two just in time to get splashed with plenty of water. Laughing hysterically, Spot gave a high-five to his giggling brother.

Brigid grabbed Spot's blue hat and held it above the water threatingly.

"WHOA!" Spot squawed. "No way! Don'ts!" At a requesting glance from Brigid, he held his hand in the air and promised, "We wonts git ya two wet agin."

Satisfied, Brigid set the hat down and nodded her thanks amidst Samantha's laughter. The brown-haired girl wiped a tear away and mentioned, "Ya shoiuh did woik it out! Ya leadin' him by da scruff of his neck!"

"Shh!" Brigid hushed. "He doesn't have ta know!"

Smirking wickedly, the two girls slapped hands quietly behind their backs.

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